Love is so short, forgetting is so long. - Pablo Neruda
But once we forget...then what? Do we then become happy again, or in the process lose our capacity for knowing--experiencing, perceiving, appreciating--happiness? With the pain of separation, do we lose the feel of the small of a lover's back? With the shouts, the sweet whispers or the laughter that is the very definition of happiness? With the calloused hands, the soft lips? I'm in such a hurry to forget--looking forward to meeting other people, experiencing new things--that I cannot help but long for the small moments that made me happy (and happy to be happy), and feel the pain of realizing that they were--and are--fleeting. How can a man love if he forgets?
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
What do you do with the pieces of a broken heart? And how can a man like me remain in the light? And if life is really as short as they say, then why is the night so long?
Why does life stop and end when that person appear? And why am I so happy that it does stop? And why am I so sad when it finally begins again? And why am I asking these questions? How can I go through a fifteen hundred-mile drive without my loneliness killing me?
"Men wanted for Hazardous Journey. Small wages, bitter cold, long months of complete darkness, constant danger, safe return doubtful. Honour and recognition in case of success."
Well, not really. I don't really have any cash to burn. But I'm supposed to have it, only that things bigger than me decided to conspire against me--credit bureaus mainly--and decided to keep from being financially stable. First task of adulthood, and I've proven myself incapable of handling the pressure. First sign of having to swallow my pride and borrow money from other people, and I have a meltdown. How do people do it? Maybe it's just a matter of getting used to it. But how do people get used to thinking about financial troubles? My situation isn't even financial trouble, just cash shortage. But it's still pretty difficult, having to go about it the first time around.
Like any good Filipino tonight, I watched Manny "Pac Man" Pacquiao beat Marco Antonio "Baby Face Assasin" Barrera in twelve, somewhat boring rounds. After hearing about all the snipets of touching back stories the commentator like to insert to keep the interest for the fight up, I was reminded of the definitive American boxing film: not Rocky, or the snoozer Million Dollar Baby, but Hard Times (Walter Hill, 1975). In it, Hill wisely made his boxing hero a "wandering stranger." But this doesn't mean the movie is a cold, emotionless work. In fact, I think it's like a boxing slow motion sequence, where they analyze a punch and you can see blood spurt or skin ripple from the punch, elongated into a ninety-minute movie. But instead of learning stories and pitying/sympathizing boxers despite the violence of their profession, Hill derived his emotions from the fight itself. It's a great piece of work (and Hill's debut), and allows for greater appreciation of a sport so invested in having a competitor beat the living shit out of another--and having people all around them cheer them on.
Here I am, fixing a videotape of Peque Gallaga's Unfaithful Wife (1986) I found at a local video store. The electronic tape inside was broken, but thankfully the part that has the electronic signal wasn't itself broken. Instead, the clear part of the tape that attaches it to the take-up reel was pulled out, so all I had to do was reattach it using regular adhesive tape. It won't last long, but it certainly played well when I played it on my VCR. The movie was OK, had all of Gallaga's visual flourishes, but was not as engaging as I hoped it would be. At the very least, it was good training on how to fix VHS tapes.
Everybody's losing their goddamn mind. First, it was the intrepid viewers (who were dumb enough to watch the show and treat it too seriously to begin with). Then the issue went all the way up to the Philippine government demanding apology, and a community leader saying "An apology is not enough. ABC should have an episode describing that Filipino nurses and doctors are some of the best."
Sigh. It's a fucking comedy.
You see, Filipinos are great when it comes to making fun of other races, but can't take it when the joke's on them. Have you ever heard of the story of how God created the Filipino? First, he gave an angel some dough and ordered him to bake him some human beings. The first batch came out undercooked, and thus white people. The second batch came out burned, and thus blacks. The third batch came out perfectly brown, and thus Filipinos. From last I heard, Imelda bribed God for the cookie dough and is now safely kept in one of her numerous Swiss accounts under the name "Ima Dumas."
Or, if that story isn't enough, just tune into a Tagalog channel if you have one (or in my family, two) and just wait for it. You'll either find a Chinese person with a flunky accent, an actor in black face, or the myriad parodies of people from the countryside by Manilenos. It's ridiculous. The ultimate irony of course is Senator Miriam Defensor Santiago--the Philippine senator who just recently stated, in an official senate panel investigation, that the Chinese invented corruption--is now saying that the apology was not enough. I dunno if the humor of all of this just kindly escaped the people most actively seeking somebody--anybody's--head, or they really are just dumb as rocks, but I think this whole business is making a bigger buffoon of Filipinos than anything Terry Hatchett could have ever said.
To be fair though, the Philippines have something very big at stake in this whole thing, namely the credibility of the healthcare cottage industry that the country specializes in. The Philippines is one of the biggest exporter of human workers, especally in the health services, and anything that threatens this could mean a big blow to the industry. Not really to the lowly common worker, because let's admit it as hard as one may work it's all the same in the Philippines: your ass will stay poor and you know it. I think it's more on the politicians and the bigwigs making all the noise. Any downturn in the industry means less bribe money (you know, the lifeblood of Filipino politics) from companies allowed to basically suck the country dry of its most precious assets. Besides, the industry really isn't in danger of collapsing any time soon. There is such little appeal in becoming nurses abroad that the ecstatic willingness of Filipinos to clean pus, poop, and puke is an anomaly in the international market. Again, it all points to companies in the Philippiens expecting something fo their money. Well, that and politicians simply wanting to get their name known by loudmouthing as as much as they can.
Well, not yet. In two weeks, I'm leaving Los Angeles for Chicago, then from Chicago I'm making a stop at Poughkeepsie (to visit some of my friends still around Vassar), NYC, Morgantown in West Virginia (to visit one of my buddies from LDAC), Memphis (just because), the finally to Ft. Sill, OK to finally start this whole Army career. It's daunting, and I'm scared shitless. Not because it's another round of butt-scraping training where NCOs get their last chance to scare the new LTs without getting in trouble. I'm scared because unlike college, this move's pretty much for real. After this, it's adulthood, real paycheck (yay!), real bills (...shit...). The days of sitting around, watching movies endlessly, and going to the gym whenever I please are over. To a large extent, I'm happy. These uneventful days are getting old. It's like college, but you don't go to parties, you don't score free liquor, and you don't go to class. And you're too old to ever feel comfortable living that college existence. No, I'm ready to leave. And 'm ready to get all the training out of the way and finally get to Germany! But still...there's something about familiarity and the comfort of living within it. How do people do it? How do they just step out and live a completely new life just like that? And why can't I do it?
OK, this song is a little exaggerated. But acceptance being the first step, I admit: I've been eating a little too much the past few months and not running enough. I've always told myself that I don't really care how I look, as long as I'm strong. And for the most part it has been true, but lately I've realized that I don't look fit anymore...or in my world, I don't look like an officer anymore. I can probably still max the APFT, but I definitely won't look too good doing it.
I have a month to correct this situation. I'm going to have regular gym access until the 14th of October, then after that I'm going to go to the gym whenever I can until the 28th, when BOLCII begins and gym attendance recommences. I think a two-miler every morning and hitting the weights in the afternoon will do the trick, as well as 20-30 minutes doing cardio after lifting. It won't be the first time that I (miraculously) get to shape in two weeks' time. Hope I can do it just in time for BOLCII.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long. - Pablo Neruda
